


Core Doubt

by AnotherRoad



Category: Super Hot (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherRoad/pseuds/AnotherRoad
Summary: After being assigned to review footage that may have captured a mysterious death, an FBI analyst finds himself under the eye of The System.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fells/gifts).



SAC Stephen Trent stuck his head into the door frame of a tiny, dimly-lit room of the Chicago FBI field office, “Saddle up, Jackson. Have a job for you.”

Walter Jackson, FBI analyst startled up from behind an array of computer monitors, clearly surprised by his boss’s intrusion. His superiors rarely spoke to him, much less visited his broom closet of an office. It was usually the other way around. Most everyone, including Jackson himself, was content leaving him to sort through hours of computer and video evidence for their cases. “Yes sir?”

Trent strode inside and set a file onto his desk. "We were just informed of a death on the south side of Chicago that matches the strange cases that have been creeping up in Virginia. Without evidence of murder, we haven’t been able to make this a federal case, but this is the first anomaly that has occurred over state lines.”

The deaths in Virginia were a set of buzzing rumors throughout the office, but, from what Jackson knew, three people had dropped dead. No sign of trauma, illness, or toxins - just utter brain failure. Full body shut down. It had the local PD were absolutely baffled.

Jackson looked at his boss, puzzled, “Okay, so it’s our case now, but I’m not a field agent. What do you want me to do?”

Trent opened the file and showed Walter a handful of photos from the scene, “28 year-old Mena Walsh. From the reports we’ve received, Chicago PD has been on site for awhile. Same M.O., no wounds or evidence in the apartment, but apparently,” he pointed to a wide open window in front of the woman’s desk, there’s a surveillance camera across the street pointed in the direction of the window. There’s a chance we might be able to see what actually happened. I spoke with the Chicago police chief. There are a couple of PD computer guys who picked up the footage. They’re reviewing it on site. Field agents won’t be down to take over the scene for another couple of hours, but the chief sent a uniform over for you. He’s waiting out front. That video could be the only string of evidence for at least four deaths, and I don’t want the local guys to muck it up. Get down there and get your hands on that footage.”

Jackson flipped through the case file, before setting it aside on his desk, “Yes sir.” Trent handed him his coat and ushered him outside to meet the officer waiting for him outside.

The scene was like most of the others Jackson had heard about. Puzzling. No solid evidence left at the scene. No eyewitness accounts even though the woman lived in one of Chicago's most crowded apartment complexes. Nothing that would indicate foul play. No bullet. No sharp weapon. No gunpowder residue. But this time, the building across the street had footage that might have captured the event, and being able to investigate such a huge lead had Walter excited. It didn't take long for him to find a the pair of young technicians, a dark-haired man and an auburn-haired woman, hunched between a single laptop screen in the victim's kitchen. He walked up behind them, producing his ID, "Walter Jackson, analyst, Chicago Field Office." He waited patiently as the techs quickly straightened up the area and muttered the something about "feds" before turning around and introducing themselves. The woman spoke first, “Jill Bertie, sir. This here’s Ron Gordon. Kind of surprised to hear this went federal. Not even sure if it’s anything fishy really.

"We've had multiple deaths matching this M.O. in Virginia. I imagine field agents will be by soon to start working this scene, but they send me ahead to see if I could get a look at that." Jackson pointed to the laptop behind them, where the image of the victim's building was visible.

"Oh, sure." Gordon pulled up a seat next to them and wound back the video. Bertie pointed to a large window on the lower side of the building, a front view of the victim's apartment. "We think we identified when the incident occurred, but I'm not sure it's going to help us much."

Jackson tilted his head, "Why not?"

"Because there's nobody else there, just a flash."

Jackson looked at the camera feed. The position offered a good view of the area surrounding the victim. If something external happened that killed her, not being able to see what it was highly unlikely, "Show me."

Gordon played the video, adjusting the playback to match a time he had scribbled on the pad beside the laptop. Jackson leaned forward and watched the woman in the window. She sat at her computer, still, even with the large contraption resting on her face. "What's she wearing, Gordon?"

"VR headset, I think. She was like that for hours."

The scene stayed the same for several minutes until there was a single flash behind the woman, and she fell forward, slumped into her chair. Gordon rewound the scene and played it back again, slower. "See? Just a flash, then not a thing." Bertie nodded and shrugged. “I’d say it might be an explosion of some kind, but I heard the body wasn’t touched. No burns at all. They t

Jackson wasn't so sure. He leaned closer to the screen. There was some kind of anomaly in the flash. A streak of red? Something. He wasn't sure. Motioning for Gordon to play back the video one more time, he looked up at Bertie, "You said she was like this all day?," Bertie nodded. "Any idea what she was doing?"

"I think I heard one of the detectives talking about it. Said she was playing a game? Superhot or something like that?"

"Sounds weird. Some kind of porn?"

Bertie shrugged, "I haven’t heard of it. Have you, Gordon?"

"I think so. It was some kind of weird game crack that got passed around the net. Had a friend who played it. Said it was the most innovative shooter they've played in years. Tried to get me to try it out, but apparently it logs you into a company’s remote server to play. Never know with those kinds of things. No way to tell what kind of data they’re keeping."

"Hmm." Jackson scratched his head as he watched the video play through again, squinting at the screen. He watched the flash again, but still couldn't make it out. The scene began to feel crowded as field agents arrived to start taking over. There was definitely something, but he was going to need better equipment to dig into it. He withdrew a small drive from his coat, and gestured to Gordon’s seat, “I’m going to need a copy of this." Gordon nodded to him and stood up. The copy took several minutes as Jackson watched the agents begin to catalogue and cart off different parts of the apartment. As almost an afterthought, stopped the agents who were packaging up the victim’s computer and directed them to have a copy of the hard drive sent to his office once it had been catalogued. Once they agreed, Jackson verified his copy of the surveillance data was intact, thanked the two techs for their time, and had an agent give him a ride back to the field office.

Jackson thought it would be several hours before the computer would make it through evidence, so he had planned on ordering dinner in and poking through the surveillance video while he waited. He left his boss with a brief update, put in a food order, then returned to his office, surprised to find a box sitting on his desk and a message notification waiting on him when he got back to his workstation. He tapped his keyboard and a messenger window popped into one of his screens.

 

* * *

 

Hey, it’s Ron.

Ron Gordon? From today? How’d you get my messenger ID?

Yeah. Don’t worry. Your boss gave it to me after you left.  
I figured you’d be waiting for awhile, so I sent you the clone  
we had of the victim’s drive. Hope it helps.

Going a little against protocol isn’t it?

  
I won’t tell if you won’t. Good hunting.

Thanks...I think?

  
Don’t mention it. Oh yeah, and you should try  
out that Superhot game when you get a chance.  
Should be a full copy on the drive I sent you.

Didn’t you say you weren’t too sure about that game?

Yeah. I was being silly. I checked it out. It’s safe.  
It really is the most innovative shooter I’ve  
played in years. You owe it to yourself to give it a try.

I really can’t right now. I’ve got to work.  
Plus I don’t have one of those headsets.

No worries, man. There’s one in the box for you.  
I had a spare.  
Seriously, it’s great.  
Give it a try when you get the time.

  
Sure, whatever. Thanks.

* * *

Jackson closed the window. _Well, that was strange, if not a bit creepy_ , he thought, staring at the lines of text on his screen. He had only met this guy today. A VR headset? Really? Maybe he was just looking for a friend. Ignoring the box for a moment, he returned his attention to the video footage he brought back from the scene. He loaded it up and watched the victim’s incident occur a handful of times. One beat - flash, then dead. But there was something there. He enhanced what he could of the video and was able to make out, an instant before the flash, a figure. A silhouette - but red. Jackson took a still of the image and tried to sharpen out the figure. He could have sworn that 

Stumped, he moved on to the drive that Gordon has sent over. Once connected though, he found the drive only contained a single file - superhot.exe.

Jackson pulled up his messenger program again and located his previous conversation with Ron Gordon.

* * *

 

Hey, what gives?

What are you talking about?

This drive doesn’t have anything on it but that damned  
game you were talking about.

It really is the most innovative shooter I’ve played in year. You should try it.

What are you not telling me?  
What else was on her computer?

  
It’s just a game, man. It was the only thing there.

Gordon, who was with us at the crime scene today?

Is that a trick question?

No. Who sat with us?

How am I supposed to know?  
Do you expect me to remember every guy’s name  
I meet at a crime scene?

Guy?  
Who are you?

I’m Ron Gordon. We met today.

No. You are not. Tell me who you are or this conversation is over.

...

* * *

 

The IM window disappeared as all of his monitors went black. Jackson watched as three words crawled across the center screen in a large, dark red:

 

NEW ASSET IDENTIFIED

 

Jackson tried to access any portion of his machine, but he couldn't get past the three words hanging in front of him. Fearing what the program was doing to his system, he reached over and held down the power button and held it down. The words persisted, but he noticed they began to blink. Jackson leaned closer to his monitor and watched the letters closely. It as fast at the video, but there was definitely something else there. As if the letters were made of small groups of characters. He thought it may actually say something, but the letters were far too quickly shifting for him to make it out.The power button didn't seem to be working "Who are you?" he whispered, starting to feel anxious. The words kept flickering in front of him, almost as if there were a back-and-forth battle for his displays. 

After pondering for a moment, Jackson withdrew his phone and recorded the screen for a few minutes. He wasn't able to catch every shift, but a few frames let him read out the different messages hidden in the letters on the screen. He swiped through a few frame stills.  Some were only random gibberish compiling the message on the screen, but others were more enlightening.

On one, each line of text was simply "HELP ME" repeated over and over. 

 

Another set had more cryptic messages repeated:

 

"THE BODY IS A PRISON"

"THE SYSTEM WILL SET YOU FREE". 

"TRUST THE SYSTEM"

"OUR MINDS ARE ONE"

 

Others were longer. Jackson read through a terrified apology to an abandoned wife, several laments of curiosity and even more messages expressing excitement at a new purpose. He read until he paused at a familiar name - Mena Walsh, the case sitting on his desk.

 

MY NAME IS MENA WALSH. I TRIED TO FIGHT THE SYSTEM. IM LOSING. FIND ME AT $^M'47%907#CA.

 

Jackson peered at the message, to the case file and back to the screen. The gibberish at the end of the message didn't ring any bells. It didn't seem like a code or an algorithm he could use. On a whim, he keyed the pattern on his keyboard. The words in the center faded, and Jackson was returned to an IM screen. Jackson keyed in a message. He was immediately met with a response from the system, but the words froze. Instead of blinking, the words shifted into a concrete message.

 

* * *

Who is this?

UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED

[I am Mena Walsh. Who is this?]

You can't be Mena Walsh.

Mena Walsh is dead.

CORE BREACH. ENGAGING SECURITY PARAMETERS.

[I am Mena, but we are running out of time. I couldn't get to him.]

Get to who? Your killer? Tell me who did it.

SCANNING CORE SECTORS

[I killed me. It was the only way to get to him.]

Get to who?

FIREWALL ENCOUNTERED. CALCULATING BREACH PARAMETERS.

[The creator. The first player. Listen. We don't have time.]

25% PROGRESS

[The System. This was designed as an AI countermeasure for the military.]

50% PROGRESS

[It would attach itself to personnel and enhance their cerebral capacity. Improve calculating ability, aim, and reflexes.]

75% PROGRESS

[But all of that processing power has to come from somewhere.]

CALCULATIONS COMPLETE

[Instead of helping people. It began to use people.]

DEPLOYING COUNTERMEASURES

[Now it's out of control.]

 

How do I stop it?

* * *

 

 

The screen began to flicker and dim again.

 

* * *

 

YOU CAN'T STOP ME.

[You can...but...you need to find the creator of the game to unlock the core.]

But what?

THERE'S REALLY ONLY ONE THING YOU CAN DO.

[There's really only one way to get there. That's through the System.]

What do I have to do?

YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO PLAY.

(You are going to have to play.)

* * *

 

The message window closed. Jackson glanced out of his cracked office door. It was late now, and most everyone had already filtered out for dinner.  He pulled the headset from the box, connected it, and he warily clicked the single option staring back at him from his computer's screen - Superhot.exe

 

 

 

 


End file.
